


18/02/16

by BleedingBishop



Series: Lost And Found Mystrade Drabbles [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Captain Mycroft Holmes, Gen, Stowaway Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:51:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingBishop/pseuds/BleedingBishop
Summary: Reupload of my writings in the LostandFoundMystrade's drabble collection.Originally posted 18/02/16





	18/02/16

They dragged him up from the storage hold, two brutes with large muscles and coarse hands under his arms and gripping hard. Greg hadn’t expected to be hidden for so long, a good week living off of a hidden bag of some dried fruit that didn’t taste nice, but when one is hiding from the police, one can’t afford to be fussy.

Through a door and he was thrown on another hardwood floor, this time one that was glossed with the ware of constant footsteps ran over it, and no outer weather to roughen it.

“Captain. Stowaway.” The voice from his left was stilted, a Germanic tone, he guessed, but got the message across quickly enough.

‘I suppose when you’re 90% muscle you don’t need to think.’

“Dank u, luitenant.” Someone replied out of his eyesight. At the twitch of his head raising, the charming fellow on his right forcing his head back down towards the flooring. The voice must have made some notion of dismissal, as the two meat twins left, closing the thick wood door closed behind them.

“Je bent ver weg van huis…” the voice said again, and Greg blanched. It was going to have been a challenge to convince the Captain to let him leave alive in English, let alone in whatever this…

Woah.

The man, the Captain, he emanated power, a feeling both blatant from his posture and command of the muscle that had left him here… alone. Pale skin so uncommon in a pirate made the room darker, a contrast against the dark brows and lashes. A long nose and a sharp chin.

The Captain raised a brow.

Greg swallowed.

“F-forgive me. Captain. I-”

“English?” The Captain stood and walked around his desk. He was a tall man, broad yet thin shoulders underneath a dark coat and tight shirt, washed thin but still practical. The close-fitted brown breeches of all sailors were stopped by boots, shin high and as well cared for as the leather in the Tricorn on his head and the belt of blades on his hips.

“Yes, Captain.” Greg watched him walk towards him but ducked his head as their eyes met. Best not antagonize the man.

“Well then, you definitely are far from home. Why are you on this ship?”

“Forgiv-” Greg’s second apology was stifled by the boot at his throat, the toe pressed into the weak skin just under his chin.

“I didn’t ask for an apology, I asked why you are here.” This time the voice was a growl, and Greg hoped the shiver passed off well enough as fear.

“I’m on the run. Ran out of Britain by the police. Thought I murdered someone. Didn’t care to listen to whether I had or not.” The toe was removed, and Greg let his jaw hang open slightly to relieve the pressure of trying to talk with a foot forcing otherwise.

“Well, stranger, We are currently away from the shore, and have no intention to approach land for many months, as I am sure you could tell as you helped yourself to our food stores. So we are left with two choices. The first is that you are thrown overboard, with a minimal chance of you surviving the swim back to land. The second is that I remove the food you have taken through your stomach, again, leaving you with minimal chance of survival.” The Captain smiled, thin lips curled back over surprisingly white teeth.

It was an odd feeling, the acceptance of death. Greg hadn’t ever thought it would come at the hands of pirates, but really, he wasn’t going to try and barter his way out. He had nothing to barter.

“I d-defer to you, Captain,” Greg said quietly, letting his head hang down between his shoulders.

The room was silent for long enough that Greg slowly risked raising his head.

The Captain was staring down at him, blue eyes shadowed by both frowning brow and hat, but still as blue as the Mediterranean seas, all pirates imagined. Suddenly, he began to pace in a circle around him.

“Ran out? And willing to do anything to save himself, even embrace a man who had told him he was about to die. A man so desperate for life would then surely take any avenue to continue his existence, no?”

“…Yes, Captain.” Greg swallowed. What was the man planning? Was he going to be made to beg before death?

“Up.” The Captain had now stopped pacing behind him. Greg slowly made his way to his feet, aware that… well, that he had no idea what was going to happen. The Captain walked around to face him and grinned again.

“Welcome aboard. We’ll have you locked in the brig for the time being, but when we figure out where to put you, I dare say you shall be too busy working to care where you sleep come nightfall.”

Oh. So that was what was happening.

**Author's Note:**

> After a long discussion, I and Jack agreed to let me post my writing without argument, so now they're on Ao3 for posterity :)


End file.
